Part III. THE DUKE RETURNS
Sir Harry Tanneur stood with his back to the library fire, in a disconsolate mood.
An industrious authority on heraldry had that morning rendered the report of a great discovery which at any other time would have filled the heart of the knight with joy, namely the connexion of the house of Tanneur with the Kings of France through Louis de Tendour and the Auvegian Capels.
There was little consolation in the Lilies of France, and meagre satisfaction to be derived from the "bloody hand en fesse on a field fretty." Sir Harry's mind was occupied with the contents of a letter which had arrived by the same post as the herald's report. It was brief and to the point.
DEAR SIR, —
We have to inform you that the court has upheld the Duke of Montvillier's title to the ownership of the Silver Streak Mine, and we are instructed that an appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States would in the light of recent happenings be unadvisable. The Duke who unexpectedly arrived at New York on board the Kron Prinz Olaf, is returning to Europe immediately.
Awaiting your favour,
We are, etc.
He read the letter again and was extremely vexed.
In contrast to his own cloudy visage, the face of Mr. Hal Tanneur who burst in upon him was radiant.
"We've got it, governor," he chuckled and waved a paper. "Saw old Middleton – "
"What, what, what?" snapped his parent.
"64 – all that desirable property," quoted the young man. "Old Middleton was a bit shy of parting. Said the Duke promised to be a useful tenant. I offered £800, wouldn't take it, offered £900, wouldn't look at it, got it for £1,050."
"Good boy," commended his father, and grew more cheerful. "At any rate," he said, "we can clear this bounder out of the neighbourhood: what about Alicia?"
Hal frowned terribly.
"I've done my best to show her what a silly step she's taking. Had a little talk with her – "
"Tact – I hope you used tact. Tact is everything in business," warned Sir Harry.
"Rather!" said the other complacently, "I think I know a little about handling women. I got her on her tenderest side. I pointed out people would say she was marrying for a title, showed her how these mixed marriages never turned out well. As I said, 'My dear Alicia, you know nothing absolutely about this chap except what he tells you himself, the chances are that he's married already.'"
"That was right," approved his father.
"I said, 'You don't even know that he's a Duke – his name's in De Gotha, I grant you, but how do you know he's the man?'"
"What did she say?" demanded Sir Harry.
Hal shrugged his shoulders despairingly.
"She talked – like a woman," he said, with the air of one given to the coining of epigrams. "In so many words told me to mind my own business – in fact, governor, told me to go to the devil."
"Good heavens!" said the scandalized knight.
"Well," modified his son, "she didn't exactly say so, but that was the impression she gave me."
Sir Harry clicked his lips impatiently.
"This is gratitude!" he said bitterly. "After what I've done – " He paused to recollect his acts of beneficence, failed to recall any remarkable feat of generosity on his part, coughed, frowned, and repeated with increased bitterness – "Gratitude, bah!" He relapsed into gloomy silence, then reached out his hand for the document Hal had flourished.
"But this shall end," he said with splendid calmness; "we will bundle out this dam – confounded American Duke and his cowboy friend, bag and baggage. Smith shall serve him with a notice – has he paid his rent?"
"No," shouted Hal gleefully, "it was due the day he left for America and the Yankee person has overlooked it apparently."
Sir Harry nodded.
"Hal, my boy," he said lowering his voice, "how much money in solid cash do you think this wretched man has cost me?" The importance in his father's tone impressed the young man.
"A million?" he hazarded.
Sir Harry was annoyed, with the annoyance of a bargain hunter whose purchase is undervalued by an appraising friend.
"Don't be a fool!" he begged, "a million! Do you think I could sit down and tamely submit to the loss of a million? No – "
Hal made another guess.
"A thousand?"
"Sixty thousand," said his father impressively, "sixty thousand pounds or three hundred thousand dollars!"
Hal whistled.
"Absolutely taken out of my pocket, just as though the scoundrel had broken in to 'Hydeholme' and stolen it!" Sir Harry did not think it necessary to explain that the sum in question was the Duke's lawful property, and that his crime had consisted in establishing his legal claim to it.
"I need hardly say," Sir Harry went on "that if Alicia marries this person, it will be without my approval. Indeed I must seriously consider the question of altering the terms of my will." He said this very gravely.
"Were you leaving her much, governor?"
Sir Harry coughed.
"It is not so much a question of actual value as the thought behind the legacy," he explained; "one should not measure love by the standard of value received, but by the sentiment which inspires the gift – I have often regretted," he added thoughtfully, "that the practise of bequeathing mourning rings has gone out of fashion – they were inexpensive but effective."
Hal yawned.
"What about this Duke feller?" he demanded.
Sir Harry pursed his lips.
"He is on his way back – arrives at Liverpool to-morrow. Out first business is to clear him out of Brockley. To make the place too hot to hold him. He has chosen to match his wits against mine, to range himself with my – er – opponents. He shall discover that I am not to be despised."
There was something very complacent in Sir Harry's review of the situation that aroused the admiration of his son.
"He'll find you're a bit of a nut to crack, governor," he said.
Sir Harry smiled not ill-pleased with the implied compliment.
"If you will sit down, Hal, I will outline my plan of campaign."
Hal sat down.
The Lewisham and Lee Mail with which is incorporated the Catford Advertiser– to give the newspaper its fullest title – is a journal well worthy of perusal. You may think, you superior folk who are connected with Fleet Street journalism, that outside of high politics, wars and sensational divorce cases, nothing interests the general reader – but you are mistaken.
There is a column in the Lewisham and Lee Mail sapiently headed "On Dit" and wittily signed "I Noe" (which really is a subtle play on the words "I know" and as such, distinctly clever).
I give you a clipping and reproduce it as nearly as possible in facsimile.
That Miss Cecilia Downs took the first prize at St. John's Chrysanthemum Show. We heartily congratulate the young lady.
That there was a scene at the Borough Council Meeting when Councillor Hogg demanded particulars about the paving contract. Why wash dirty linen in public?
Go to Storey's for your boots: a grand new stock.
That our distinguished neighbour the Duc de Montvillier is returning from America next week. What an acquisition he would be to the Borough Council!!
When is the Council going to take up the question of the lighting of Tabar Street?
At present the road is a positive disgrace to civilization.
Compare Storey's prices with elsewhere!
Boys' School Boots a speciality – never wear out!
Mr. Roderick Nape read a paper before the Broadway Literary Society on Saturday entitled "Criminals I have Met." It was enthusiastically received.
James Toms, described as a labourer, was charged at Greenwich with stealing an overcoat, the property of Mr. J. B. Sands, of Tressillian Crescent – three months.
Dancing shoes from 2s. 11d. Goloshes for the wet weather from 1s. 11d. Storey's for fair prices and civility.
This is the briefest extract, the merest glimpse of the moving pageant that fills the suburban stage. It leaves much to the imagination – the elation of Mr. Nape, the enthusiasm of his audience, the tragedy of James Toms, described as a labourer, and his downfall.
If the truth be told, the minor happenings of life are of infinite interest to the people who are responsible for the happenings. Councillor A. Smith who makes a speech on the new drainage system, is considerably more interested in his brief quarter of a column than would be Mr. A. J. Balfour under similar circumstances.
If I have a fault to find with local journalism, it is that it is far too reticent regarding the personal side of its news. For instance "I Noe" duly reported that Sir Henry Tanneur, "our respected prospective member," had acquired large freehold interests in the neighbourhood, but he failed most ignobly to record the fact that No. 64 Kymott Crescent and all that messuage, had been bought by Sir Harry in the Duke's absence, and that Sir Harry's agent had served Hank with a notice to quit.
Hank, occupying the garden step ladder in the unavoidable absence of the Duke, found a sympathetic audience in the girl next door.
"I think uncle has behaved disgracefully!" she said shortly, "I have never heard of anything so paltry, so intensely and disagreeably mean, it is petty – "
Hank was very solemn and very cautious.
"It's a mighty serious business ejecting a duke," he said. "I sent Cole down to the free library to get a book on the feudal customs, and I've just read that old book from startin' gate to judges' wire, and there's nothin' doin' about firin' dukes – or duchesses," he added.
Alicia changed the subject with incoherent rapidity.
"What will you do?" she asked hastily.
"Do?" Hank's eyebrows rose at the preposterous question. "Do? Why I guess we'll just stay on."
"But my uncle will serve you with a writ of ejectment," she persisted.
Hank shook his head.
"I don't know her," he confessed, "but she must be geared up to shift the Duke. She must be well oiled an' run on ball bearin's, an' be triple expansion 'fore an' aft to make him budge. And if she misses fire once, it's down and out for hers. I don't know any writ of ejectment that was ever cast, that could lift the Duke when he was once planted."
Hank shook his head with an air of finality.
"Our new landlord ought to be warned," he said. "Some one ought to tell him. It ain't fair – he doesn't know Dukey."
A bright thought struck him.
"I'll warn him," he said and grew cheerful at the prospect.
"D'ye see, Hal?"
It was in the middle of the fourth conference between father and son, and Sir Harry had triumphantly rounded off his plan when Hank was announced.
The two men exchanged glances.
"Surrendered without firing a shot," murmured Sir Harry. "Show the gentleman in, William."
Hank came into the library and found two grave gentlemen bent over a gorgeously illuminated coat of arms.
Sir Harry looked up with a start when Hank was ushered in, and offered him his hand with a smile of patient weariness.
"Won't you sit down!" he said politely. "I'm afraid our task is an unfamiliar one to you, an American. There is some dispute as to whether the Tanneurs of the fourteenth century are related through a cadet branch of the Howards – but heraldry would bore you?"
Hank's face was impassive.
"No, sir," he replied calmly. "I knew a feller down in Montana, a fat little fellow named Sank, that made a pile out of sheer carefulness – he never came in under a pair an' never bet under a straight flush – who got that bug in his sombrero. Paid a man down in New York 5,000 dollars to worry out a choice assortment of ancestors. Got way back to William the Conqueror an' might easily have fetched up at Noah, only one night he knocked up against little Si Morris sittin' pat with four aces. Si drew one an' Sank put him with two pairs – that's where Sanky went into liquidation."
Sir Harry bristled.
"You wish to see me about something?" he said coldly.
Hank nodded.
"This notice to quit," he said; "what's the idea?"
"That is a matter that I cannot discuss." Sir Harry had an admirable manner for this sort of contest. It was an adaptation of his board-room method, "Gentlemen, if you please we will proceed with the agenda;" an icy interposition that had so often chilled the inquisitive shareholder.
"Of course," Hank went on, "I don't exactly know what the Duke will say – but I can guess."
"What the Duke says," said Sir Harry loftily, "will not affect my plans."
"I should imagine, though," said Hank thoughtfully, "that he won't take much notice of your notice."
"What!" said Sir Harry, "take no notice – good heavens, sir, are you aware that there's a law in this country?"
"There is a rumour to that effect," said the American cautiously, "but I reckon that a little thing like that won't worry him – you see he's a Duke."
The awe in his voice impressed even Sir Harry.
"Duke? Duke! Rubbish! Bosh! Nonsense! Duke?" snapped Sir Harry. "We don't share your worship of titles, sir. What is a title? A mere handle, a useless appendage, a – "
Then he recollected.
"Of course," he qualified, "there are titles – er – to which respect is due; titles – er – bestowed by a grateful country upon its – um – public men, philanthropists, et cetera; upon citizens who have identified themselves with – er – national movements – "
"Such as Jubilee almshouses," said the approving Hank.
Sir Harry turned very red.
"Exactly," he agreed with some embarrassment, "I – er – myself have had such a mark of the sovereign's favour. But as to the Duke – well the Duke you know – in fact I'm no believer in hereditary titles. Our family have never countenanced them, never desired them, claimed no relation – "
"The cadet branch of the Howards," murmured Hank.
"That is a different matter," spluttered Sir Harry; "we have had no ancestors of recent years – I mean we do not – in fact – " he blazed wrathfully, "you've got to get out of No. 64, whether you like it or not!" Hal had been an interested listener. Somewhat unwisely he now took a hand.
"The fact of it is, my friend – " he began, Hank turned on him with extravagant dignity.
"Say," he said in an injured tone, "there's no necessity for you to butt in: I don't mind Sir Harry readin' the Riot Act, I do object to him callin' out the militia."
Hal's reply was arrested by the arrival of a servant bearing a telegram.
Without any apology to his visitor Sir Harry opened and read it. He read it twice like a man in a dream, and handed it to Hal who read it aloud.
"To TANNEUR, Hydeholme.
"Just got your notice to quit: most interesting document: am framing it. – DE MONTVILLIER."
"The Duke's home," commented Hank, and his brows knit in a troubled frown. "I wonder whether I ordered enough sausages?"
"I have asked you to come to see me, Mr. Nape," said the Duke, "because I feel I owe you an apology."
The criminologist nodded stiffly.
He thought that under the circumstances the Duke might have very well come to him, but he was not prepared to labour the point.
"We all make mistakes," said the Duke generously, "I for instance have been mistaken in you."
Mr. Nape made another stern acknowledgment.
"I thought your methods were unconventional; I mistrusted the new type of detective; I have been trained in the old school where the man who murders the banker is never the burglar who robs the safe, but the good bishop who calls for the missionary subscription; where the villain who steals the Crown jewels is not the impecunious soldier of fortune, but the heir apparent."
Mr. Nape stood rigidly at attention and waited. It pleased him to see evidence of a great remorse upon the tanned young face before him, to observe deep shadows under his eyes, and – he had not noticed them before – a sprinkling of grey hairs at his temple. Mr. Nape drew his own conclusions.
"Now," said the Duke with a self-depreciating wave of his hand, "I know that the old method is obsolete, that from the first the guilty party is the obvious – "
"Obvious to all who employ the process of elimination," corrected Mr. Nape severely.
"Exactly," agreed the Duke. "I now know, that if you catch a man with his hand in your pocket, you eliminate everybody whose hands do not happen to be in your pocket, and by this process arrive at the culprit."
Mr. Nape looked a little dubious.
"My confidence in your ability being established," the Duke went on, "I wish you to accept a commission from me."
Mr. Nape regarded him with cold suspicion.
"It isn't by any chance connected with electric bells?" he asked sarcastically.
"Not at all."
"Or digging holes in a garden?"
The Duke shot a reproachful glance at him.
"As to that unfortunate incident," he said, "you have yourself to blame. But for the completeness of your disguise – "
"Which you penetrated," said Roderick gloomily.
"I confess," said the Duke, with pleasing frankness, "that I spotted the false whiskers – or was it a moustache? I said to Hank, 'Who on earth can it be?' and Hank couldn't think of anybody. 'It's a detective,' said Hank, 'but what detective?' We thought of everybody till Hank – you know what a penetrating devil he is – said 'By Jove! It must be Jacko – I mean Nape!'"
Mr. Nape looked important.
"And the commission you wish me to accept?" he asked.
"It will be necessary," said the Duke slowly, "to take you into my confidence. I am in a deuce of a mess: I have incurred the enmity of a great and powerful man, who has invoked the machinery of the law and threatened me with its instrument – in fact," he said in an outburst of candour, "brokers." Mr. Nape who had visions of something a trifle more heroic, said "Oh."
"Not only this," the Duke went on, "but he has unscrupulously, pertinaciously and several other words which I cannot at the moment recall, brought to his aid the most powerful factor of all – the Press."
The Duke picked up a long newspaper cutting that lay at his side.
"Read that," he said.
Mr. Nape obeyed.
It was headed "The Duke in the Suburbs," "meaning me," said the Duke complacently, "read on."
Mr. Nape skimmed the leading article – for such it was – rapidly:
"Titles," says Voltaire, "are of no value to posterity, the name of a man who has achieved great deeds imposes more respect than any or all epithets."
"He boned that out of a book of familiar quotations," explained the Duke admiringly, "go on."
"It would seem that the English character, ever sturdy and self-reliant, is in imminent danger of deterioration…"
"Title worship is unworthy of a great people… Especially foolish is the worship when the demi-god is an obscure foreigner, whose chief asset is an overwhelming amount of self confidence, and an absolute disregard for the amenities and decencies of social intercourse."
"I can't quite place that last bit," said the Duke, "it is probably employed to round off the sentence – proceed, Mr. Nape."
"With every desire to preserve intact the admirable relationships that exist at the present moment between ourselves and our Gallic neighbours, we should be wanting in our duty if we did not point out, and emphasize in the strongest possible terms, the necessity for a strict observance on the part of our foreign guests, of the laws of this land."
"That's rather involved," commented the Duke, "but I gather the sense of the stricture – pardon me."
Mr. Nape continued.
"The English laws are just and equitable; they are the admiration and wonder of the world. The late Baron Pollock on one famous occasion said – "
"Skip that bit," interrupted the Duke.
"The laws affecting property are no less admirably framed. In a noted judgment the late Lord Justice Coleridge laid down the dictum – "
"And that bit too," said the Duke; "go on to the part that deals with the lawless alien."
"Most difficult of all," read Mr. Nape, "is the landlord's position when he has to deal with the alien, who, ignorant of the law, sets the law at defiance: who opposes his puny strength to the mighty machinery of legislation, and its accredited instruments."
Hank, a silent and interested listener, moved uneasily in the depths of his big chair.
He removed his cigar to ask a question.
"Is she the writ of ejection or the notice to quit?" he asked soberly.
"I gather that she's the court bailiff," said the Duke reverently.
"We would remind the person to whom these admonitions are addressed, – in the friendliest spirit – that there is a power behind the law. The majesty of our prestige is supported by the might of armed force."
"That's the militia," said the Duke, "Captain Hal Tanneur of the North Kent Fencibles! Hank, we're up against the army. We're an international problem: you heard the reference to the friendly relations? We're the fly in the Entente Cordiale ointment."
"And a possible causus belli," murmured Hank.
"And a causus belli," repeated the Duke impressively.
There was a silence as Mr. Nape carefully folded the cutting and placed it on the table. A continued silence when he leant back in his chair, with his finger-tips touching and his eyes absently fixed on the ceiling.
"Well?" said the Duke.
Mr. Nape smiled.
The solution of the problem was simple.
"You want me to find the man who wrote that article?" he said languidly. "It will not be particularly difficult. There are certain features about this case which are, I admit, puzzling. The reference to Baron Pollock and the Lord Chief Justice show me that the writer was a lawyer, the – "
"Oh, I know who wrote the article," said the Duke cheerfully, and Mr. Nape was disconcerted and annoyed.
Then an idea struck him and he brightened.
"I see," he said, "you want me to discover the circumstances under which they were written. You have a secret enemy who – "
"On the contrary," said the Duke, "I know all the circumstances and I know the name, address, age and hobbies of the enemy."
Mr. Nape's exasperation was justified under the circumstances.
"May I ask," he demanded coldly, "why I have been called in?"
"That seems fair?" The Duke appealed to Hank, and Hank nodded. "It seems a deucedly fair question."
He turned to the young man —
"Mr. Nape," he said solemnly, "we want an editor for the Brockley Aristocrat."
Mr. Nape saw light.
"I of course know the paper," he said – there was little that Mr. Nape did not know – "but I have only seen it once – or twice," he corrected carefully.
"It doesn't exist yet," said his serene grace, "it's a new paper that Hank and I are going to run, and we need an editor."
"I see," said Mr. Nape, industriously blowing his nose to hide his confusion…
"We want an editor of fearless independent character, who will do as he's told, and ask no questions."
"Yes, yes," approved the detective.
"A man of judgment, of keen discernment and possessed, moreover, of a knowledge of men and things."
Mr. Nape nodded thoughtfully.
"Some one we can depend upon to carry out a policy without striking out on some silly idea of his own – there's the job, will you take it?"
"I have had some experience," began Mr. Nape, but the Duke interrupted —
"Pardon me," he said, "but it is not experience that's required. An experienced editor would not do the things we shall expect our editor to do. We shall expect him to – er – rush in where the Times would fear to tread."
Mr. Nape had a dim idea that the turn the Duke gave to this requirement was not as complimentary as it might have been.
"I have a feeling," the Duke continued, "that in Nape we have discovered a local Delane."
He spoke ostensibly to Hank, as though oblivious of the new Editor's presence. Mr. Nape rather enjoyed the experience than otherwise.
"Or a Horace Greely," suggested the patriotic American.
The Duke assented gravely.
"There are certain conditions of service to be laid down," the Duke went on, "a definite policy to be followed, a – "
"I am a conservative." Mr. Nape paused to observe the effect of his declaration. In the absence of an outburst of wild enthusiasm Mr. Nape hedged his bet, "but" he went on carelessly, "I am open to conviction."
The Duke nodded.
"We shall expect you to uphold the best traditions of current journalism," he said, "and I do not doubt but that you will succeed. You must be prepared to jump with the cat – you follow me?"
"Yes," said Mr. Nape, who had not the least idea what cat was referred to.
"You must be careful not to give offence to the friendly nations. I will supply you with a revised list of them from week to week – and deal lightly with the Borough Council. You may have a whack at the Czar now and again, but whatever you do, be careful that you do not annoy the advertisers. Keep an eye upon the Balkans, the shipbuilding programme of Germany, and the London County Council."
"And Sir Harry Tanneur," added Hank.
"Sir Harry Tanneur!"
Mr. Nape was surprised.
"You know him?"
The detective became instantly his mysterious self.
"He was a client of mine," he said briefly.
Having so brusquely dismissed the subject in a manner that arrested all further investigation he regretted the fact. For he would have liked to explain the reading of the cutting at the concert, would have been delighted to accept recognition as the Duke's good fairy.
But the Duke did not pursue the subject.
He rose from his chair and held out his hand.
"Can you see me to-morrow?" he asked, "I have to arrange an office and a printer."
Mr. Nape bowed.
"In the meantime," said his grace, "you had better think out some leaders.
"I have already thought of one," said the resourceful editor. "It is entitled Noblesse Oblige.
"A most excellent title," said the Duke admiringly, "I'll write the article myself."
Mr. Nape went home deep in thought.
The adoring little maid of all work, who met him at the door ventured to report.
"I've done up the laboratory, sir; them bloodstains have come from the butcher's, and the plumber's fixed up the microscope all right."
Mr. Nape stared at her vacantly.
"Remove the rubbish," he said shortly.
Emma gasped.
"Beg pardon, sir?" she stammered.
"The rubbish!" cried Roderick impatiently stamping his foot, "microscope and bloodstains and human hair – take them away."
A thought struck him.
"Run down to the stationers and get that book How to Correct Printers' Proofs– it's sixpence."
The dazed girl accepted the coin.
"Shall I bring it to your laboratory?" she asked feebly.
Roderick turned a stern face upon her.
"Sanctum," he thundered, "there is no more laboratory, sanctum sanctorum– did they teach you Latin at school, Emma?"
"No, sir," she confessed, "that's the thing you do with compasses, ain't it?"
Mr. Nape shrugged his shoulders and walked slowly to the greenhouse.
As an unprejudiced observer of the fight that was destined to shake Brockley to its very depths, to set the blameless citizens at each other's throats, to divide families, and in one case (when the engagement of a certain A.M. and B.Y. was broken off in consequence) to alter the very destinies of the human race – an unprejudiced observer, I repeat, of Sir Harry Tanneur's attempt to purge Brockley of the foreign yoke – I quote the Lewisham and Lee Mail– I am free to confess that the honours lay with the ducal party.
This L. & L. Mail– Hank invariably and wickedly introduced aspirates into the abbreviation – was remarkably outspoken.
There will appear nothing extraordinary in this fact, when it is realized that Sir Harry had, on the very day the Duke returned, purchased the paper for a considerable sum in order to further his candidature in the division – and for other purposes.
For two weeks the advantage was all with the knight. His phillipics thundered from his hireling press for two consecutive issues, his content bills scarred the faces of nature.
Then came the Duke's turn.
One morning Sir Harry, passing through the main road of Lewisham, saw a huge announcement that covered one hoarding:
Sir Harry grew apoplectic.
"The ruffian!" he spluttered, "the vulgar punning ruffian!"
In a fury he drove to Kymott Crescent.
His car stopped at 64 and he sprang out shaking with rage.
His noisy knock brought the sedate servant.
"Where's the Duke," he demanded.
The silent servant led the way.
Sir Harry burst in upon a council of three.
The Duke, Hank and Mr. Nape sat at a table strewn with papers, and his grace saluted his visitor with a smile.
"Look here, sir!" bellowed Sir Harry. "This damn foolishness has got to stop – you clear out of my house as soon as ever you can: by heavens, sir, I'll take you to the courts, I'll – "
The Duke raised his hand.
"Sir Harry," he said serenely, "as one aristocrat to another, let me beg of you to remember the restrictions imposed by birth. It ill becomes men of our ancient lineage – "
"Confound you, sir! I will not have you pulling my leg! I'm dead serious – There's a law in this land – "
"There is a law also in America," said the Duke calmly, "I believe there is even a law in China. It is one of the disadvantages of the century that no spot on earth is left where there is no law."
"You won't put me off with your blarney," blazed the knight. "I know you, I've met men like you before."
"Don't boast," begged the Duke.
"I'll clear you out neck and crop – "
"Neck perhaps," corrected the Duke, "but crop no; not being a fowl of the air, and being to a great extent anatomically ordinary, your illustration lacks point."
"As to Alicia," said the knight with deadly earnestness. "I absolutely forbid her to have anything further to do with you."
The Duke was silent. He looked at the elder man a little curiously, and Sir Harry, interpreting the silence in quite the wrong way, pursued his mistaken advantage. "You must understand that she is in a sense my ward – "
"Mr. Nape!"
The Duke addressed his editor.
"Would you be kind enough to see me later in the day – what I have to say to Sir Harry is no fit thing for a young editor to hear."
He said this gravely, and Mr. Nape made a reluctant exit.
"Now that that child has gone," said the Duke, "will you permit me to say a few words? I am," he confessed, "rather fond of hearing myself speak. Sir Harry, I would rather you left your niece out of the conversation."
"You would rather!" jeered the master of Hydeholme.
"I would rather," said the Duke politely, "if you have no objection. You see, Sir Harry, I know all about your relationship with the father of my fiancée. I know how you lured him and his money into your rotten financial quicksands, how you left him to ruin."
"That's a lie, a horrible lie," gasped Sir Harry, pale with rage.
In justice to him it may be said in passing, that he really thought that it was. The Duke diplomatically passed the comment.
"Coming nearer home," he went on, "I know that you conspired with certain individuals to rob a most worthy young nobleman – to wit myself – of his mineral wealth."
"That's another lie: by Gad, sir? if you dare print this – !"
"I did think," said the Duke carefully, "I must confess that I did think of using the material for a humorous poem, but if you would rather I didn't – "
Sir Harry Tanneur made an admirable effort to recover his temper and his lost dignity.
"If you cannot behave like a gentleman," he said, "it is useless for me to prolong this interview. To-day," he turned at the doorway, "to-day I shall take action."
"From my knowledge of you," retorted the Duke, "I should imagine that you would take anything that happened to be lying about."
Sir Harry was attended to the door by the sedate servant.
"A nice household!" he said meaningly.
The sedate servant bowed.
"How to describe the meeting between Alicia and the Duke!" the painstaking author would think. Should she rise with heightened colour, her fingers convulsively clutching that portion of the anatomy under which, as it is popularly believed, a fluttering heart thrills at the familiar footstep? Should she run to him hysterically, falling upon his neck and sobbing for very joy? It is a style which has exponents amongst the very best authors.
Happy am I, that I am not called upon to invent so difficult a scene. It is the glorious privilege of the reporter that he need not invent. Unless he draws a very high salary indeed, to record events, not as they happened, but as they ought to have happened.
In truth she rose with a heightened colour when the Duke was announced, but she offered him her hand conventionally, and – when the door had closed behind the reluctant servant – he took her in his arms and kissed her again and again.
I do not know how many times because I was not present, but I should say quite six times.
(Six of course is merely an estimate covering their first greeting.)
"So you're back?" she smiled.
He held her hands in his.
(It would be absurd and presumptuous in me to pretend to give anything that professed to be an exact account of this meeting. I repeat that I was not present.)
"I was so horribly afraid," she said earnestly, "I thought when that dreadful man disappeared that possibly he might have followed you, and…"
Let us, as the mid-Victorian novelists said, when they found their powers of description failed, draw a veil over that happy meeting, far too sacred … and too difficult…
Sir Harry called a Council of War.
His Man of Affairs – Smith by name – attended, as also did the Editor of the Lewisham and Lee Mail.
Mr. R. B. Rake (Member of the Institute of Journalists, as his visiting card testified) was and is, one of the most remarkable personages in Catford.
A literateur of no indifferent quality, an authority on postage stamps (I find on referring to Webster's Dictionary that such an expert is called a philatelist), a vegetarian and a gentleman with pronounced views. Mr. R. B. Rake can be described in one word – tremendous.
He had a tremendous voice and a tremendous style, and he quoted the ancient classics inaccurately. He had some Greek, thus he referred to Sir Harry, as of the [Greek: demioergoi], and the Duke as a [Greek: métoikoi]. I have my doubts as to the latter description, and I more than suspect that Mr. Rake, in referring to his grace, thus misapplied the phrase of "privileged alien."
Mr. Smith, whose duty it was to supervise Sir Harry's "rents," was a deferential little man, with a garbled knowledge of the law relating to property.
"Now, gentlemen," said Sir Harry briskly, "we've got to do something about this Duke man."
"Quite so," said Rake, "it is perhaps unparalleled in the constitutional history – "
"One moment, Rake," interrupted the knight testily, "let me talk. I want to make it very clear to you why it is absolutely necessary for the Duke to be cleared out – did you speak, Smith?"
Mr. Smith did speak: he had an important statement to make and saw his opportunity. Unfortunately his introduction was not happily framed. "I said the lore – if a man acts cont'ry to the lore he's done himself," said Mr. Smith solemnly, "you can't take liberties with the lore, duke or no duke. If you catch hold of the lore by the collar it'll turn round and bite you. Now it happens – "
"Be good enough to withhold your comments until I have completed my remarks," said Sir Harry with asperity, "I know all that it is necessary to know concerning the legal situation: I did not," he added pointedly, "ask you to meet me to discuss an aspect of the situation upon which I have been already advised – by competent authorities."
"Now that is very true," commented Mr. R. B. Rake in a tone of wondering surprise, as though Sir Harry's remark had come in the light of a revelation.
"I know," said Sir Harry, "that I cannot eject this person without complicated legal proceedings, and I had thought that by the aid of our good friend Rake we might have shamed him out of the district – but he is meeting us on our own grounds. He is starting a newspaper."
"I give it a month," said Mr. Rake with conviction, "I've seen these mushroom growths: there was the Blackheath Eagle– run by a man named Titty – lasted two issues; there was the Brockley Buzzard– lasted one; Catford and Eltham Indicator– never came out at all!"
He smiled a tired smile.
"You may be sure that this new paper will last just as long as the Duke desires it to last," said Sir Harry, "but that is beside the question; you know the exact position; you are men of affairs acquainted with the complexities of suburban life, I desire to rid Brockley of this person. How am I to do it?"
Mr. R. B. Rake pinched his thick lips thoughtfully.
"I think a leader on Democratic ideals, bringing in the Duke as an oppressor of the people – "
"You can't do that," said Sir Harry brusquely, "he subscribes to the football club."
"How about an imaginary interview. 'A talk with the D – de Mont – r?" suggested Rake.
"Or a little parody on Julius Caesar, satirically reminding the people of their ingratitude: like this:
"Stuff and nonsense!" said Sir Harry wrathfully. "Nobody has ever climbed up a chimney to see me; nobody knows me in Lewisham."
Mr. Rake protested.
"Nobody knows me I tell you: I've addressed meetings there on Free Trade and all that sort of thing, but I haven't a single acquaintance, except my wretched sister-in-law and her annoying daughter – and what the dooce does Shakespeare say about Tanneur?"
"A pardonable interposition," murmured Mr. Rake noisily. "It is 'Pompey' in the text – you see how admirably it fits the Duke:
"I – will – not – be – referred – to – as – Pompey," said Sir Harry deliberately and slowly, and thumped the table at each word, "I am not going to give that brute a nickname to hang round my neck."
"And look here, Rake," broke in Hal impatiently, "what the devil's the good of you thinking that any muck you write is likely to shift this Duke fellow. I'll bet if it comes to writing he could write your head off. An' there's nothing funny about the Duke fellow coming in triumph over the governor's blood. Its a beastly tactless thing to say."
Mr. Rake looked at him unfavourably.
"Mr. Hal," he said, in his best editorial manner, "you must allow a journalist and a gentleman – "
"Journalist my grandmother," said Hal, without reverence, "this is a council of war – don't let us raise any debatable question. We've got to think out a way of making this Duke pack up his traps. It doesn't matter what sort of way, so long as it's an effective way. The governor doesn't want him there, and I don't want him – he's taken a low down advantage of me an' probably messed up my whole life – " He tangented abruptly (the accent on the penultimate.)
"Now whilst you two chaps have been arguing," Hal went on, "I've thought out a dozen schemes. We might cut off his water – "
"The lore," said Mr. Smith becoming cheerful as the discussion took a turn into his province, "the lore doesn't allow anybody but the water-rates to turn – "
"Or the gas," said Hal, silencing the law-abiding Smith with a gesture; "we could cut the gas off – we can't get him on the rent question because – "
Mr. Smith's great opportunity came.
"The rent question does him," he said wisely cutting out all preamble, "because he ain't paid his rent, an' won't pay his rent, and what's more, he'll see you (accordin' to the American gent who lives with him) to the – I forget the name of the place – before he pays you."
Sir Harry was dumb with astonishment.
"Here's the letter," said Mr. Smith tremulous with importance, "from the Duke himself."
He read —
"DEAR SIR, —
"On my return from America I found a notice to quit served on behalf of your employer. My lease being well defined, I regard the service of such a notice as constituting a breach of contract, and must respectfully decline to pay any further rental for the premises I now occupy, until my position in regard to this property is determined.
"Yours truly,
"DE MONTVILLIER."
"Outrageous!" blazed the knight.
"Monstrous!" echoed the faithful Rake.
"What a rotten piece of cheek!" said Hal.
Mr. Smith wagged a fat forefinger.
"The lore is," he said, "that the question of lease is between Sir Harry and the tenant. No tenant's got a right to take the lore into his own hands. If there's a breach of contract the tenant may take action through the lore: if he won't pay his rent – "
"Smith," said Sir Harry impressively. "We will humiliate this fellow; we will show these foolish people of Brockley, who have no conception of true nobility, how this trickster may be treated."
"Governor," said Hal suddenly and excitedly, "why not show 'em the genuine article."
"Eh?"
"What about Tuppy? He's under an obligation to you? Why not bring him here. You've got an empty house – 62, by jove! Next to the Duke's; the tenants left yesterday…"
"An excellent idea – a most worthy idea," said Sir Harry.
It is no extravagance to state that everybody knows Tuppy. The station inspector at Vine Street knows him; Isaac Monstein (trading as Grahame & Ferguson, Financiers) knows him, tradesmen of every degree know him, and there is not a debt collecting agency from Stubbs to the Tradesmen's Protection Association that is unacquainted with his name and style.
The doorkeeper at the House of Lords knows him, and nods a greeting in which reproof and deference are strangely intermingled.
For Tuppy is George Calander Tupping, Ninth Baron Tupping of Clarilaw in the county of Wigsmouth.
He is a youngish man with fair hair and light blue eyes. He typifies in his person the influence of hereditary vices, for he wears a monocle as his father did before him. His attitude towards life is one of perpetual surprise. It earned for him at Eton, a nickname, which he carried to Oxford. He was "The Startled Fawn" to all and sundry, but it was a little too cumbersome to stick, and it is as "Tuppy" that he is best known…
The story of Tuppy is a volume in itself. He began life in the illustrated newspapers, as "Young Heir to a Peerage: Baby Honourable in his Perambulator." He progressed steadily to fame by way of Sandown Park and Carey Street.
At twenty-one he filed his petition; at twenty-two he was editing a weekly newspaper; at twenty-four he appeared in "The Whirling Globe of Time," a comedy in four acts written by himself and (after the first night) acted by himself; at twenty-five he went to America in search of a wealthy bride.
One can only speculate upon the possible results of his guest, for on the voyage over, he fell madly in love with Miss Cora Delean, that famous strong woman and weight lifter.
He married her in New York.
Three days after the marriage the lady threw him over. This is literally the truth, and I have too great a respect for Tuppy to endeavour to make capital out of his misfortune. She threw him over the balustrade of the hotel in which they were staying, and poor Tuppy was taken to hospital.
In justice to the lady it may be said that she called at the hospital regularly every day and left violets for the sufferer. She penned a tearful apology in which she begged Tuppy's forgiveness, appealing to him as a man of the world to realize that a person in drink is not responsible for her actions. Providentially, about this time, the lady's first husband initiated proceedings for divorce on the grounds of incompatability of temperament, and Tuppy, reading the account with his one unbandaged eye, was fervently grateful that the case had not been heard before his marriage.
He returned to England a pronounced misogynist with a slight limp.
Of his other ventures the Sea Gold Extraction Syndicate is the most notorious; his attempt to break the bank at Monte Carlo; his adventures as correspondent in the Balkans, these events are too recent to need particularizing.
Summing up his life, one might say that he had indeed a great future behind him.
As Tuppy himself would say, with a suspicion of tears in his eyes —
"My dear old bird! I never had a chance. I was saddled with rank an' bridled by circumstance. I'm a rumbustious error of judgment, a livin' mark of interrogation against the Wisdom of Providence!"
Let no man think that Tuppy was a fool; he was a poet. His play was in blank verse. Nor accuse him of improvidence: he was a philosopher who scorned the conventional obligations of life. He never paid his bills because he never had the money to pay. If he had possessed the means, he would have discharged his liabilities, for he was an honest man. It has been argued that in his circumstances it was wholly wrong to contract such liabilities, but Tuppy had an answer to such a twiddling splitting of hairs.
"Dear old feller," he was wont to say, "you talk like a foolish one. Must I forgo my last shreds of faith in human nature and the mysterious workin's of providence? Must I, because of temp'ray misfortune, refuse to recognize the illimitable possibilities of the future? I have three cousins each with pots of money, and one at least coopered up with asthma – it runs in the family – who might pop off at any minute."
Thus Tuppy justified his optimism.
If Tuppy had a failing it was his antipathy to his father's second wife. To the dowager he ascribed all his misfortunes, in every piece of bad luck he saw the dowager's hand.
She, poor soul, was a mild colourless lady with a weakness for bridge, who spent her life in a vain attempt to restrict her requirements to the circumscribed limits of a small annuity payable quarterly.
Tuppy rented a flat in Charles Street, W. He was at breakfast when Hal's letter arrived, and the young man's interesting communication might well have gone unread, for Tuppy's man was handling the morning post.
"Bill from Roderer's, m'lord."
"Chuck it in the fire."
"Letter from the lawyers about Colgate's account."
"Chuck it in the fire."
"Letter E.C. – no name on the back."
"Let me look at that, Bolt – um – typewritten – posted at 6.30 p.m. That's the time all bills are posted; chuck it in the fire."
"Better open it, m'lord – might be a director's fee."
Tuppy shook his head sadly.
"Not likely – still open it."
So Hal's proposal came before his lordship.
"Dear Tuppy," read the man.
"Who the devil 'Tuppies' me on a typewriter?" demanded the peer.
The servant turned to the signature.
"Hal Tailor," he read.
"Tanneur," corrected Tuppy, "he's the sort of cove who would Tuppy me on a typewriter – go on."
"DEAR TUPPY, —
"I've got a great scheme for you. The governor will let you have a house rent free – "
"I'll bet there's something wrong with the house," said Tuppy uncharitably.
" – if you don't mind living in Suburbia."
Tuppy sat bolt upright.
"Where," he asked.
"In Suburbia," repeated Bolt.
Tuppy rose and pushed back his chair.
"Bolt," he said solemnly, "it's a shade of odds on this being a scheme of dowager's to get me out of the country. Bolt – I'll not go. I'll see this Tanner man to the devil before I expatriate myself!"
"Beg pardon m'lord – "
But Tuppy stopped him with an uncompromising hand.
"It's no bet, Bolt. Here we are and here we'll stay. Blessed gracious!" he swore fiercely. "I would sooner pay my rent here!"
"I was going to say, m'lord," said the patient Bolt, "that he means the suburbs. Brixton an' Clapham an' Tootin' Bec an' that sort of thing."
Tuppy looked at him suspiciously.
"Where is Tooting Bec and that sort of thing?" he demanded.
"Near Wandsworth Prison," began Bolt.
"What! Then I won't go – I won't go, Bolt." Tuppy was considerably agitated. "It's a rotten idea; a house rent free, d'ye see, Bolt? it's this demmed Tanneur person's gentle hint … a paltry matter of three hundred pounds" – he paced the room furiously – "that's the scheme – the dowager is behind all this – oh woman, woman!"
He apostrophized the ceiling.
"Better finish the letter, m'lord."
"Chuck it in the fire, Bolt; chuck it in!"
Bolt quickly skimmed the letter and mastered its contents.
"It's in Brockley, m'lord," he said quickly.
"Chuck it in the fire – where's Brockley."
"On the main road to Folkestone," said the diplomatic Bolt.
"Main road to Folkestone is half-way to the Continent," said Tuppy explosively, "chuck it in the fire!"
"He said he'll allow you £500 for upkeep, m'lord."
"Eh."
Tuppy stopped in his stride.
"Five hundred," he hesitated, "that's a lot of money – there'll be some shootin'."
"Certain to be, m'lord."
"An' people?"
"Yes, m'lord."
Tuppy shook his head doubtingly.
"I've never heard of anybody livin' at Brockley – I knew a chap who lived at Harrogate, poor chap with one lung."
Tuppy thought.
"Five hundred and shooting – any fishin'?"
"The river's close by, m'lord – there's Greenwich – " Tuppy brightened up.
"Greenwich! of course, whitebait. Must be devilish amusin' fishin' for whitebait: you eat 'em with brown bread, you know, like oysters – "
He wrote to Hal that day, tentatively accepting the offer. Hal made an appointment for his lordly tenant, and fumed for three hours in his city office until Tuppy turned up.
"I say!" said the aggrieved Hal ostentatiously displaying his watch; "I say, Tuppy, old man, dash it! You said eleven and it's two! Hang it all!"
"Don't be peevish," begged the peer, "if I'd said two it would have been five."
"Time is money," complained Hal.
"Wise old bird," said Tuppy earnestly, "your interestin' and perfectly original apothegm merely elucidates my position. It's the habit of years to overdraw my account."
Hal who had no soul for subtle reasoning, plunged into the object of the meeting.
"The fact is, Tuppy," he said, leaning back in his padded chair, and cocking one leg on to the desk before him, "the fact is," he repeated, "there's a man, a Duke man, that the governor's anxious to run out of Brockley."
"Dear, dear!" commented Tuppy with polite interest.
"He's not one of our dukes: he's a French Duke from America, and he's been acting the goat and getting upsides with the governor and blithering generally – do you understand."
"Very pithily put," murmured Tuppy, "the whole situation is revealed in one illuminatin' flash."
"Very good," said Hal complacently. "Well, being in the suburbs – the Duke – and the suburbs being – "
"In the suburbs," suggested the helpful Tuppy as Hal paused for an illustration.
"Exactly … It stands to reason that a lot of these bounders have gone in for a sort of hero-worship. See?" Tuppy nodded slowly.
"The fact being," explained Hal, "that these suburban people are such absolute rotters and – and – "
"Pifflers?" suggested Tuppy.
"And pifflers and outsiders – that was the word I wanted – that they really don't know the genuine article from the spurious."
"Very natural," Tuppy agreed.
"So the governor and I (it was really my idea but you know what sort of chap the governor is for adopting other people's ideas as his own), we thought a good idea would be, to plant one of the genuine article right in their midst, so that they could see for themselves the sort of Johnny the other chap was."
"I see," said Tuppy thoughtfully, "sort of look on this picture-an'-look-on-that, compare the genuine goods before patronizin' rival establishments?"
"Tuppy," said Hal with solemn admiration, "you've got the whole thing in a nut-shell."
Tuppy picked up his hat and examined it intently.
"No bet," he said.
"Eh?"
Hal could hardly believe his ears.
"No bet," said Tuppy with decision, "awfully obliged to you for the offer and all that; but no bet."
"Why not – you get a house rent free; the governor furnishes it from Baring's, you get five hundred – "
"The five hundred is badly wanted," admitted Tuppy sadly, "an' if anything would tempt me, it would be five hundred of the brightest and best, but, Tanny, old chick, it can't be done."
"But why not?" protested Hal.
Tuppy was still examining his hat.
"Dignity, old friend," said Tuppy categorically. "House of Lords, family traditions, pride of birth, ancient lineage – the whole damn thing's wrong. Besides, it would get into the papers, 'Noble Lord caretaker in the suburbs: Tuppy's latest!' ugh!"
He shuddered.
"An' again," he went on. "Where is Brockley, what is Brockley, who has ever lived in Brockley: what part has Brockley played in the stirrin' story of our national life? Is there a Lord Brockley, or a Bishop of Brockley or a Lord of the Manor. Yes, there is a 'Lord of the Manor,'" he amended bitterly. "It's the name of a public-house. It's no go, dear old boy, it can't be done. I've looked it up, found it on a map, an' read about it in the A.B.C. Time Table. It's all back-gardens an' workman's trains, an' stipendiary magistrates, an' within walkin' distance of the County Court."
He shook his head so vigorously that his eyeglass fell out.
He replaced it carefully and pulled on his gloves.
"Now look here, Tuppy," said Hal impatiently, "for heaven's sake, don't be a raving ass!"
"Neatly put," commended Tuppy.
"You get this house free; you get the money – cash down; you get what you haven't got now – unlimited credit."
"Pardon, pardon," corrected Tuppy carefully, "my credit is exceptionally good, if the tradesmen only knew it; it's the rotten conservatism of English business methods that is paralysin' my budget, an' the socialistic tendencies of the tradin' classes that is interferin' with my economic adjustments. Tanny, old sparrow, it's no go."
He shook his head.
"No shootin' except cats; no fishin' except with worms – I particularly loath worms and spiders – no society."
"There is the Duke."
Tuppy had forgotten the Duke, and Hal's sarcasm was effective. "Duke?" Tuppy frowned. "The Duke – of course."
"Now what on earth is the Duke doin' there?" he burst forth in a tone of extreme annoyance, "an' what duke is it?"
"I've told you a dozen times," said the exasperated Hal, "he's an obscure foreign duke – "
"Name?"
"De Montvillier – quite an unknown – "
"Steady the Buffs," warned Tuppy, "de Montvillier? Best house in France. Tanny, my impulsive soul, the Montvilliers are devils of chaps. Obscure! Phew."
He looked at Hal reproachfully.
Then he shook his head for the fourteenth time.
"Five hundred pounds an' a back garden," he considered, "an' the Duke. He's pretty sure to play picquet. By the blessed shades of the original Smith, I've a good mind – "
He pondered sucking his index finger.
"I dare say we'd get on well together – "
"Look here, Tuppy!"
Hal was pardonably indignant.
"You don't think we want you to go down to Brockley to keep the Duke amused, do you? We want you to cut him out, make him look like a tallow candle by the side of a searchlight.
"Oh, I'll cut him out all right," said Tuppy with confidence, "there are few chaps who can beat me at piquet."
Hal protesting, Tuppy serenely indifferent to the requirement of the other contracting parties, but obligingly agreeing with all their conditions, it was arranged that from September 16 No. 62. should be for the nonce the London house of Baron Tupping of Clarilaw in the county of Wigsmouth.
It would seem that up to this moment the feud that existed between the ducal establishment and the knight bachelors entourage was of a private character. That Brockley pursued an even and a passionless way unconscious of the titanic storm that was brewing in its midst. Outwardly there was no sign of the struggle. The milkmen came at dawn, the grocer called for orders, and the laundrymen brought home other people's collars, and shirts that looked like other people's shirts, but which proved on close examination to be the shirts that were sent, but slightly deckled about the edges. Brockley may have been mildly interested in the announcement that a new paper was to make its appearance, at least so much of Brockley as read the announcement.
Not to make any mystery of Brockley's attitude, I must say that Brockley really wasn't particularly interested in Itself. For one thing, It only slept at Brockley and spent week-ends there. The greater part of Its life was spent in the City and upon the admirable rolling stock of the South Eastern Railway. Except when It went down to the Broadway to change the library books, It seldom saw Itself.
In a word It had no esprit de corps, no local patriotism. It was neither proud of Itself, nor ashamed of Itself. Its politics were very high indeed: Imperialism was freely discussed at the local debating societies; there was a golf club and a constitutional club, and (very properly in Deptford) a Liberal club.
It had a church parade on the Hilly Fields, which ranked high as a fashionable function, for Sunday found a strolling procession of top hats, and dainty creations. And there were immaculate young men in creased trousers and purple socks; and hatless young men belonging to the no-hat brigade who strolled about in trios blissfully unconscious of the notice they attracted. Yes.
A careful, and I hope an impartial observer, I noted no extraordinary disposition on the part of Brockley either to participate in, or comment upon the Duke's quarrel until after the Aristocrat had made its first appearance.
A summary of the contents of that remarkable new-comer to the ranks of journalism might be instructive. I produce haphazard from the table of contents on page 4.
1. News of the Day.
2. Leading Article: "Change for a Tanner."
3. Dukes I have met: by Roderick B. Nape.
4. "Driven from Home" (a short story).
5. Landlordism and crime.
There were other articles, bearing unmistakable evidence of their authorship. Mr. Nape's translation from the sinister realms of crime to the more healthy atmosphere of journalism had not entirely divorced him from his first love. It changed his aspect certainly. From being a participant he became a spectator. Thus, "Cigarette Ash as a Clue," an article displaying considerable powers of observation and deduction, rivalled in style and interest the famous monograph on "Cigar Ash," by another criminal scientist. "Bloodhounds I have trained," by a famous detective, although published anonymously, may, in all probability, be traced to the same source.
"Jacko is riotin' across these fair pages," commented Hank, with the first number of the Aristocrat in his hands, "like a colony of Phylloxera across a vineyard."
The Duke nodded.
"We've got to have something to fill the space," said the Duke philosophically, "if we can't get advertisements."
Hank blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling and pondered.
"I anticipate trouble," he said.
"From the stainless knight?"
"From the stainless knight," said Hank. "Say, Duke, these effete European institutions do surely impress me."
He paused.
"Here's a duke," mused Hank, "a real duke. Not a hand-me-down duke with a saggin' collar, not a made-to-measure-in-ten-minutes duke, but a proper bespoke duke, cut from patterns. Here's a knight with golden spurs, rather stout but otherwise knightly, especially about the coat of arms: here's a lord – Baron This and That of This-Shire, walked straight from his baronial castle in Regent Street to harry the marshes of Brockley – "
The Duke sat up.
"Now," he said with deliberate politeness, "now that you have thoroughly mystified the audience, are you offering a prize for the solution or are you holding it over till the next number? The Duke with his admirable qualities, I instantly recognize; the knight is apparent, in spite of his spurs. Who is the baron? Is he allegorical or illustrative or a figure of speech?"
"He's 62," said Hank.
The Duke's face bore a look of patient resignation.
"There must be a prize offered," he reflected aloud.
"In fact," elucidated Hank, "62's a real baron – a lord – His Nibs."
"The deuce he is!" the Duke was alert. "Quit fooling, Hank. Our new neighbour – "
"Is Baron Tupping of Tupping," said Hank solemnly, "a perfect English gentleman – I heard him cussin' in the back garden."
"Tuppy!"
The Duke whooped his delight.
He grabbed Hank's arm and the pair raced through the conservatory into the garden.
Somebody next door was annoyed, and his voice rose plaintively.
"Bring the Sacred Ladder," ordered the Duke.
In the middle of the garden stood Tuppy, monocle in eye, hat tilted to the back of his head, and a cigarette drooping feebly, his face expressive of despair.
The Duke hailed him.
"Tuppy, you beggar."
Tuppy looked up; his face lit joyfully.
"Monty, by the High Heavens!" he exclaimed. Then he smacked his forehead, "Monty – Montvillier – you ain't my Duke are you?"
"I'm your Duke – your liege Duke of life and limb and earthly regard – "
"Half a mo," said the vulgarly practical Tuppy, "I'm comin' over."
He came over the wall, silk hat awry, joyously dusty.
He all but fell upon the Duke's neck.
"My dear old bird," he cried ecstatically, "of all the wonderful coincidences that ever made a novelist's fortune, this is the wonderfullest – this is the exalted top-notcher. If the dowager knew, she'd go ravin' mad. I've a jolly good mind to write an' tell her."
Arm in arm they passed into the house.
That night:
Tuppy wrote to Tummy Clare – his one confidant.
"Tummy, old friend," the letter ran, "the unfailing mystery of solar phenomena, the unswerving accuracy of the comet's flight, the ordered perambulations of the whole damn planetary system, all these pale to insignificance beside the phenomena of human movement. In other words, the trick some chaps have of turning up in unexpected places … Monty! You remember the beggar, in your house at Eton … didn't know he was a duke … riotous and profitable night … piquet … I rubiconed him twice, piqued, re-piqued, capotted and … I held fourteen aces six times in succession … won about ten pounds…"
That night:
"I think," said Sir Harry rubbing his hands cheerfully, "that we have said, 'Check to the Duke person.'"
"Tuppy's arrived?" asked Hal.
"Yes; Smith put him into the house, and Rake is putting him into the paper. I rather fancy that if Tuppy plays his cards well, he will score heavily."
As we have seen, Tuppy played his cards very well, and indeed did score heavily.
"You will like Tuppy," said the Duke earnestly.
To the scandal of the neighbourhood, he insisted upon conducting his courtship in the manner it began, and he addressed Alicia from the top platform of the Sacred Ladder.
"Tuppy has faults," the Duke continued, "but so have we all, or nearly all," he corrected modestly. "As poor old Tuppy says, life's song is played by a pianolo. A thousand ancestors have helped to perforate the roll and the tune is inevitable."
"A philosopher," said Alicia drily.
"Tuppy complains bitterly about the unreasonableness of a world that expects cantatas from the roll in which generations of Tuppings have been punching comic songs. You'll like Tuppy."
"In spite of his mission?" she smiled.
"To cut me out?" The Duke shook his head tolerantly.
"Poor old chap, he recognizes the hopelessness of that. No; Tuppy is not that kind. I say!" he said enthusiastically. "There's Tuppy in his garden."
"Monty!" said a voice.
"That's him," said the Duke ungrammatically, but with an air of proprietorship.
"Monty!" said the voice again, "give me a leg up, dear boy – I'm comin' over for a cocktail."
Miss Alicia Terrill raised her eyebrows.
"He means a cup of tea," said the Duke hastily.
"I should like to meet Tuppy," said Alicia calmly, "whilst you are giving him a l – whilst you are rendering him the necessary assistance I will find the ladder."
Tuppy scrambling over the wall met the scrutiny of a pair of grey eyes, and balanced himself with difficulty. When I say he wore his oldest suit, that he had pale green socks and a pair of old slippers, and that owing to his exertions his trouser leg was rucked up to display his sock-suspenders, you will realize that but for his noble breeding Tuppy would have been embarrassed, and would have made a precipitate and undignified retreat.
But Tuppy was above all things self-possessed.
He paused astride the wall.
"Let me introduce Lord Tupping," said the Duke gravely.
Tuppy held on to the wall with one hand and raised his cap with the other.
"Delighted," he said politely.
Alicia averted her eyes from the pale green socks with the scarlet suspenders and addressed him at a tangent.
"Mother will be glad to see Lord Tupping," she said to the Duke. Somehow she did not consider it quite maidenly to speak direct to the suspenders.
"Mother will be glad to see you," repeated the Duke primly.
"And I," said Tuppy gracefully, "shall consider it an honour to wait upon your lady mother: it would seem to me that no greater obligation – and it is typical of the blightin' decadence of our language that a word meanin' 'a sympathetic bindin'' should be degraded to the sordid service of bills at three months – than the respect an' reverence due to the maternal element in our midst. The spirit of chivalry – "
At this point in the labour of his oratory Tupping lost his balance and fell into the Duke's arms.
He would have continued his speech but for the arrival of the Duke's discreet servant.
"Yes?" said the Duke inquiringly.
"Two gentlemen to see you, m'lord."
"Two – who are they."
"I don't know, m'lord – they asked for your lordship – "
"Yes?"
"One I thought smelt of drink, and the other was a little furtive."
Tuppy laid his hand upon the Duke's arm.
"Monty, dear boy," he said solemnly, "I know 'em."
"You."
"Me," said Tuppy wagging his head wisely, "One smellin' of drink an' the other sneakin' round the corner – brokers."